


The Extremely Repetitive Musical Education of Sam Winchester, Errant College Boy

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, F/M, Jessica Moore Lives, M/M, Music, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: Repetitive music makes Sam cranky.





	The Extremely Repetitive Musical Education of Sam Winchester, Errant College Boy

It all started with the little waterproof radio Jess kept in her apartment. At first, he didn't think anything of it. It was cheap and small and ran on batteries--maybe the antenna was just going out. Sam couldn't tune it to NPR, but apart from making him grumpy about missing his morning news, it was nothing much.

He made a mental note to buy Jess a replacement when he got his next paycheck from the bookstore.

Later that week, the iPod that Jess had gotten Sam for his birthday decided that he could spin the wheel all he wanted but he could never again press down and hear its satisfying click in his headphones.

Back and forward were no more. _Jojo left his home in Tuscon Arizona_ , the iPod played, and Sam knew he would never be able to play another song, and so he put it to sleep with a sigh.

The new manager at the bookstore seemed to have some kind of psychotic break about two days after that. "I'm not playing what corporate _says_ anymore!" he said with a freakish glee. "They don't know their elbows from their asses. The world needs--"

"Love?" Sam asked, rubbing a hand through his hair and over his aching forehead. Everything was just too--something--without his little white earbuds and the headache he'd been nursing since that morning was seriously kicking his ass.

"No! More Beatles! Fuck you _kids_ , man."

Steve popped in a CD labeled in his blocky print. "My favorite mix," he said triumphantly, and pressed play.

Jojo set off again and Sam let out an exasperated puff of air.

"Man, wait 'til we get to the end of track four! The transition is gold! Pure gold!"

But they didn't. The CD player started to skip, although, distracted with a customer, Sam didn't realize until maybe the tenth _get back_ in a row.

Steve went into the back room muttering something about coasters and iTunes and _piece of shit_ , and just--stayed there for the entire length of Sam's shift, at least. 

It was a long day after that.

Sam really needed a break. He needed to get some sleep. He hadn't realized how much a reasonable mix of his own damn music (he finally had his own damn music!) was an integral part of his collegiate success. This was one of many things Jessica had observed about him and taken action on when she was tired of seeing him glare down his tiny CD collection--about five discs in all, and all Dean's music.

"He never let me drive. He's weird about the car," Sam had explained. Simple and true.

"And the music. I mean, would it have killed him to let you--"

"It's good stuff."

"I know it is, but it makes you look like a sad puppy, Sam. You need your own."

And she'd gotten him the iPod, and he'd loaded it up, and he knew Dean would never find out about the Arcade Fire or the Bon Jovi. He was allowed, dammit.

And now all he could hear was--

It just didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. Sam just needed _music_. Why was that so hard?

They drove to San Francisco for spring break, borrowing Zach's car because he had Beck's for the week. Sam bit back a promise not to kill the radio while they were gone. He couldn't promise those kinds of things. Not anymore.

Jess turned it on without a thought as they pulled out of student parking.

"We have a dedication, folks. This is for Travis, from Trixie."

Jesus _Christ_.

"Sam? What is it with you and this song?" Jess asked. "You must be more tired of this than BOC by now."

"Yeah, uh, no shit? Fuck you, Trixie."

"Seriously. What a bitch," Jess declared, sympathy mixing with nervousness in her laughter.

Sam turned to her and smiled even as the song kept playing. _Get back to where you once belonged._

She smiled back and resolutely snapped the dial on the radio back to OFF.

"Thanks, babe."

"Anytime." 

They settled in for a long, quiet drive.

A month after break ended, things were extremely rocky. Sam's headache was constant. He'd gotten a C- on a paper in philosophy because he just wasn't able to parse Hegel when all he could hear in his skull was a 4/4 baseline.

Yesterday he'd heard Jess try the radio in the shower again and then burst into tears. He thought she might be thinking of asking him for a break.

The song didn't follow her. Not unless Sam was there.

Sam was cursed. 

He stared at his end-of-semester grades with dread, doing some quick math in his head. Another semester like this and he'd lose his scholarship with flying colors.

Tuesday, Jess had glared at him over dinner. "It won't stop, Sam. It just won't stop." Her eyes were too bright--just the way Sam knew his own were.

Friday, Sam started to pack. He hadn't ever had anywhere to go on breaks, and he knew that was part of why he was living here now instead of bouncing from the dorms to the Y or a motel and back to the dorms again. Jess had wanted to give him a home base. And by then, he'd been ready and willing to take it.

Sam had never packed for anything since moving in. But he was ready for this, too, now that the time had obviously come.

He pecked Jess Moore on the cheek and she breathed, "Can I turn on the radio again, Sam?"

"Sure, Jess. Whenever you want."

"Okay," she said, smiling absently. "Thank you, Sam."

"Anytime."

He hefted his duffle and headed for the door. He knew where he was going to go.

*~*~*

"Oh, snap!" crowed the Trickster. "Travis Bickell, hero of the day! I do like that boy."

"That," Azazel offered reluctantly, "was creative." 

"I am a universal bastion of the effectiveness of chaos, my friend. Also, I think you owe me a beer."

"You can have all the beer you want. I don't drink."

"Or eat. Man, I'm telling you, no wonder you're so bitchy all the time. Food is good."

"Remind me never to bet with the likes of you. I enjoy setting fires, you know."

"I know, honey," the trickster crooned. "I just really can't stand putting them all out."

*~*~*

Somewhere over the Nevada border, Sam Winchester was humming the Beatles despite himself. _Sweet Loretta Martin thought she was a woman, but she was another man._ Dammit. He cracked his knuckles, stuck his thumb out, and thought of Dean. His brother was never going to believe this. Not for a second.


End file.
